


The Thirty-Eight Lifetimes of Mister Hanzo Shimada

by sabaix



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternative Universe - Alternative Occupations, Angst with a Happy Ending, In Media Res, Major character death - Freeform, Multi, Multiple Crossovers, Non-Linear Narrative, the other Overwatch characters appear only briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-21
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-05 12:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14044467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabaix/pseuds/sabaix
Summary: Mister Hanzo Shimada grew tired of dying and being forced to reincarnate because of his lack of ability to find his soul mate, so he starts documenting his past lives in his useless attempt to find a pattern.He finds it.





	1. JM

**Author's Note:**

> **In depth warnings and tags will be added before every chapter, in the notes,** so please take a moment to read them. If you believe tags spoil the content, you can skip them.  
>  Since chapters are not interdependent, they can be easily skipped if one chooses to do it. I will not tell you what to think of the story and you are free to speculate or understand it in any way you want. I am very happy to hear your theories.  
> Feedback is wanted and appreciated, as always.  
>   
>  **Warnings for Chapter 1. JM:** Mentions of an Attempted Suicide in a news article.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most people's soul mate marks are works of abstract art who move towards their left ring finger the closer they get to their soul mate. Hanzo's are two initials.

_I keep walking by_  
_But you never look at me_  
_I am going to stop_  


**'I didn’t want to do it, but The Mark made me'**

By Joel Morricane  
BBC News  
30 December 2012  


**A teen whose Mark was acting up has said the “illness” led him to suicide.**

Callum was admitted to a local hospital after he attempted to kill himself by jumping off a bridge. His parents called the incident “traumatic for all of us”.

“One second he was next to us, the next he was in the water. I thought my heart was going to jump from my chest. I never felt such desperation,” she kindly informed us.

The father also required medical attention since he jumped after his son in the freezing water.

Callum and his father were both enrolled in the Wrexham’s Mind Healing course, a programme which supports parents and children where one of them is experiencing mental health problems. In the past year alone, it helped a little over 100 people.

No explanation about why the Mark reacted as it did is available to the public. It is speculated…

…Hanzo closed the article and looked down at his own mark, now located on his left wrist. It was known that The Mark moved on your skin according to how close one was to their soul mate. The Mark’s destination was everyone’s ring finger. Beside the ink’s ability to change its location based on some astrological tracker, there was no indication it had a mind on its own. Even the idea of it “acting up”, whatever the author meant with that expression, seemed silly to him. It was just ink. What could it do? And the kid’s declaration? That the Mark made him do it? Ridiculous. It was ink on skin, like any other tattoo. Unless it changed into some encouraging phrase, Hanzo could not see how it could make anyone do anything. It couldn’t push anyone off a bridge. It didn’t have a mind or a body. Outrageous.

Unlike most people who had abstract drawings, or even more obvious designs (like a stylised arrow), Hanzo had two initials: “JM”. They were usually above his heart and sometimes they climbed on his clavicle without any warning, but recently they were getting closer to his left hand. Although the reason was apparent, he could not understand what triggered the change of position. He was alone in the office and he walked to work that morning, purposely avoiding people.

Did he see his soul mate on his way to work? Maybe they shared a bus or they were buying groceries from the same shop. Did he meet them, without realising? Everyone gushed to him about the moment, how you just know who your soul mate was, right away. You needed one second of looking in their eyes, and everything would make sense.

But everything already made sense for Hanzo. What now?

“Mr. Shimada, could you please take these to the HR Department?”

He tuned in his chair and nodded. He took the papers from Hana’s hands, a small and cheerful intern who was hired last month. She had a Journalism diploma, so Hanzo was unsure why she would prefer an internship in a small and local charity like theirs. Nothing exciting ever happened, but she seemed happy nonetheless. She was nice company for his lonely lunch.

In the elevator, Hanzo looked at the documents. In his arms were five orange files, all of them with the title: “Performance Report, December 2012”. Suddenly the reason why Hana hesitated to do it by herself became clearer in his mind. Was she worried that she will be fired? There was no need for silly concerns. She was a fine employee and always ready to help anyone.  

The elevator announced the floor and Hanzo moved without registering the number, making him almost collide with a man who was trying to enter the lift at the same time. Hanzo was the first to realise he was not on the right floor yet, and took a big step backwards. The man acknowledged him by tipping his porkpie hat. Although all of them wore suits, this man looked odd in his white suit. It was a nice one, much like the back of the strange fellow.

They travelled in silence and parted ways as soon as they left the lift, avoiding a collision once more.

Only later, Hanzo noticed his Mark was curled around his ring finger.

He had lost his chance, again.

 

 

 


	2. 4:47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly 10 years after his parents' death, Hanzo finds a strange phrase tattooed on his skin, after he had no soul mate. Exactly 20 years after his parents' death, Hanzo finds out he has an incurable disease.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for Chapter 2. 4:47 -** Mentions of Anorexia Nervosa, Descriptions of an Eating Disorder

Umarete wa/Shinuru hazu nari/Sore naraba  
_Since I was born_  
_I have to die,_  
_and so …_  
\- Kisei, 1764  


 

It is 4:47 in the morning when he stumbles into his room, because he cannot call his accommodation for the year an apartment. It is minuscule, a shoe box comparing to what Hanzo once had, but it will make do. Its sole purpose is to shelter Hanzo from the cold and the heat, and nothing else. It is certainly not home, but it is something resembling one.

He almost trips over his own feet twice, but he manages to lean on the wall and steady himself. He succeeds in keeping himself in a vertical position and uses the counter in the kitchenette as an anchor. He pours some water in his kettle and puts it on the hob. He leans on the fridge now. He is staring at his trembling hands. His fingers are thinner and he can clearly see the bone under his pale skin. His knuckles are bruised, but he is more focused on his nails. They are all broken or splitted. His hands are shivering in the middle of a subtropical summer.

The kettles shrieks, but Hanzo is staring at his hands. He is afraid to look further, at his wrists and arms. He pulls the sleeves down and takes the kettle. He throws three bags of black tea in it and quickly pours some in a mug. He walks in the other room, a small place which doubles as a bedroom and an office at the same time. At least two mountains of clothes are rising on his desk chair and on the bed. He chooses to sit on the floor, the mug between his fingers.

 _How many?_ His brain wonders endlessly, unwilling yet again to just give Hanzo a break. Sleep is out of the question, especially after the kind of day he had. He pushes the memories down, together with the burning hot tea. It sets his tongue and throat on fire, and it hurts, but not as much as everything else he experienced.

There is dust on the floor and there is dust inside him.

He just wants to clean it with tea.

His only activity that does not tire him yet is waiting for the sun to rise. He watches the first rays appearing on the horizon, above all the other buildings in the city. Their town is reaching far away, wishing probably to dominate nature and swallow the forests and mountains in the distance once and for all. Its greed is worthy of a god. His eyes are weary, but he forces them to see behind the buildings, the nature and everything else that is between him and the sun. These days, he prefers to keep his eyes open than close. He cannot be trapped in a world out of his direct control if he is constantly awake.

Hanzo rests his head on the cold wall behind him. It is nice, even if he is trembling. There is a small draft which comes from the door and is almost freezing his toes, but he does not mind it in the slightest. It keeps him anchored in reality. And he knows, hours later, if that draft had not been there, he would have missed his phone buzzing.

He assumes that at one point he closed his eyes, since the next time he opens them, the sun is staring at him from behind some clouds. The phone is buzzing, signaling several messages coming through. His tea is cold now and he is surprised he did not drop the mug during his nap. He does not remember falling asleep and he does not recall any kind of dreams. He reaches for his coat, which is on the ground.

All the messages are from Satya.

>Hanzo? Did you get home? (5:00AM)

>Did you eat? (5:20AM)

>We need to talk. (5:30AM)

>Hanzo, please answer your phone. (5:45AM)

>Hanzo, just tell me if you are ok. (6:30AM)

>Hanzo, I beg of you, please tell me as soon as you can if you are fine. (7:00AM)

He looks at all of them and says nothing, types nothing. Satya probably knoes he read them. She will wonder why he did not reply. Frankly, he could not deal with her or her worries. It is time to get ready for work anyway. He pushes himself up and dresses himself. He takes his coat again and leaves the room without even glancing back once.

>Hanzo, please. (7:15AM)

He glances at the phone, then at the railway in front of him. He has to take three steps and he can be there, in the hole.

 _How many?_ His brain askes again, although Hanzo already approximated how many steps are necessary. He takes one step forward, bringing the number down to two. Another step and he can make the number change into a one, then a zero.

 _Water has zero calories._ His brain provides and Hanzo dutifully turnes on his heels. He approaches a vending machine and uses two hundred yen to buy a bottle of water. His eyes skip the snacks automatically. _Water is safe._

The train arrives behind him, so he takes his bottle and moves towards it, leaving his change behind. He does not sit down, although there were barely any people who used that route. He needs the exercise. He is almost there. He pushed himself for so long, nothing worked, and now he finally found something that worked. How could he give up?

He watches the houses and train stations pass him in a blur.

At his stop, Satya is waiting. Hanzo spots her immediately, considering she is dressed in her usual white and blue dress. She almost runs to him when he gets off the train. Hanzo attempts an escape, although he is aware how futile it is. Everything was.

She stops him and hugs his left arm.

“Don’t go, please.” She pleads and he looks at her.

Her eyes are puffy and red, ~~probably~~ certainly from crying, crying for him. Her makeup is simple and almost non-existent. She smells of wood and spices, but Hanzo could not care less in that moment. He wants to go back home and drink tea until death claims him.

“I’m glad you saw my messages.” She says and they start walking again. He wishes he did not see them, especially because they kept getting more and more pitiful. “I just want to know how you feel.” She says softly and rage boils inside Hanzo.

He does not mean the words he spits at Satya.

“Fantastic. Obviously the idea of imminent death makes my dull life more interesting. Didn’t you notice how cheery I am these days?” Satya shudders, but keeps holding unto his arm.

“Did you eat today?”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

She knows the answer, but she still asks, because she was a cruel woman. They had the same routine every day, for months. He refuses to answer, so she forces him to stop in front of a shot. It smells like donuts and sugar and it makes Hanzo want to puke. He considers it. Maybe if he did such an unspeakable thing in public and ruin Satya’s favourite dress, she would stop. ~~She would not stop.~~

She turns to him with a chocolate-covered donut and pushes it into his hand. _How many?_ His brain asks immediately. Hanzo stares at the donut. He starts counting before he can stop himself. He recites the ingredients for ten donuts by heart. _Milk, 148. Bread Flour, 495. Vanilla extract, 38. Three egg yolks, 165. Chocolate, 535. Too many. Toomanytocount._ He asks aloud:

“How many?”

Satya does not need any clarification to answer him. “One large donut, 67 grams, 303. An even number.”

He hesitates, so she gives him a very rude and insistent glare. He cannot do it. He takes a small bite for her, ignoring the bile rising in his throat. He swallows hard and drinks some safe water. His stomach turns, but it keeps the bite inside.

“I can’t.” He whispers and gives her the rest of the donut.

“Hanzo,” she starts.

He knows what she wants to say, so he quickly asks: “How was the funeral? After I left?”

The question shuts her up. She folds the tissues around his donut and puts it in her bag.

“Nothing special, like any other funeral.”

Liar. It was special. It was his brother’s. He feels sick again so he drinks more water, pushing everything down; feelings, questions, and regrets, they all drown. They stop at a red light and wait in silence. Hanzo is not sure when he started seeing doubles, but it is very confusing. He instinctively leans on Satya and moves when she does. He trusts her enough to lead them both to the office building without any other stops to nibble on food. He hated himself enough like he was. His brain constantly asks him how many were in that bite. _Too many_ , it keeps repeating to itself. _This is not enough._

They enter the building together. The white décor blinds Hanzo, but he drags his feet anyway. Everything is a little too much for him these days, and every breath proves to be a difficult feat, but he does it because his brother could not.

The path in front of him seems endless, and he knows he can only walk it alone.

But he wishes the path will just end already.

It is 4:47 in the afternoon when he stops walking.

…Hanzo remembered that life with bitterness. He died young, without thinking once about soul mates and love. For that Hanzo and the Hanzo who was putting the memory on paper, one thing was crystal clear: any feeling of love died together with Genji. To the writer, it seemed cruel that his former self was plagued by the curse of counting, like many other in that century.

But the thought of himself dying alone, on a dusty floor, in a small room, without even trying to look for his soul mate, appeared even more heartless.

 

 

 


	3. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Genji's permanent death because he found his fated one, Hanzo starts writing.

_Winter comes_  
_and winter takes_  
_Winter never gives back_  


Breathing hard and only in small balls of steam, he threw his almost-white-from-snow black coat on the bed and sat down at his desk. The notebook was there, still open and prepared for another entry. His pen didn’t move either. It was still resting in the middle, between the pages, between his last lifetime and this one. The metal of its silver pen was warm against his frozen fingers. After seeing so many lifetimes, Hanzo decided only people who had nothing to lose wished for immortality.

His hand moved without him ordering it to. Memories melted on the page. He remembered…

…looking down at his brother’s moistened lips, immortality seemed like a curse. A curse that choked Hanzo. He was the eldest son and he was supposed to prepare everything, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. His old knees were starting to hurt him, constantly reminding him “You aren’t young anymore, master” and “next life you are alone”. Oh, how terrifying was to be the only one who remembered.

A man dressed in black approached him. Hanzo heard his footsteps on the wooden floor, but made no move to greet him. What was the point anyway? The man stopped a few feet behind Hanzo, exactly three if anyone asked him later, and kneeled then sat politely, with his head hung down. He had the decency to whisper.

“The clothes are here, Master.” Stupid title. Gave nothing. Only took. “We are ready when you are, Master.” Never. He could never be ready. “We contacted the family’s temple, Master.” He was supposed to do that. “The _nokansha_ will be here any moment, Master.” No… Go away.

“Thank you.” He said finally, the words scratching his throat while they were going up and out.

The man probably bowed, his forehead lightly touching the floor, then got up and left in the same quiet manner. After he was gone, Hanzo realized he never asked what temple they contacted, or what kimono they bought or who…

They said all Hanzo’s life that the worst nightmare of a parent was to bury their children. And yet, they never spoke a word about an older brother, who took the role of said parent when they were away. Thinking back on their lives, he couldn’t recall a time when Genji was happier than the short moments he had shared with the monk. Genji had always have been a lively person, laughing, shouting, and enjoying what life threw at him, soulmate or not. Unlike Hanzo, he was excited by the idea. He thought death was a small price for such an opportunity. He never considered that maybe Hanzo wouldn’t find his soulmate, and maybe Genji will leave him behind.

Hanzo knew that his little brother was selfish, much more selfish than himself.

Genji took and took and demanded.

A man came again and took his brother away. For hours afterwards, while Hanzo stared at the empty bed in front of him, he could hear the voice of a priest, slowly reciting a sutra. The Shimadas were not exactly Buddhists, or religious, but tradition was followed above all else, above individual wishes, above busy schedules and above life or death. He was the elder brother and he was supposed to be there, at Genji’s wake. Yet he was hiding away in a dark room and was staring at his brother’s bed. The bed he wasn’t going to need anymore.

The funeral was upon them, but Hanzo could still not move an inch. His knees were numb and his nails probably broke skin by the time a man came once more and left his brother’s new name next to him, together with some flowers and envelopes.

Lastly, a man came with an urn. It was sat on Hanzo’s left side, opposite to the envelopes and flowers, which were withered. Two days passed since the Tuesday the report came in. Two days passed since Genji stopped existing for Hanzo. Two days passed since his brother found his soulmate.

Hanzo’s hands felt frozen against his warm, almost burning hot tears...

…and even now, they were cold. They were cold against the pen and they were cold against his heart.

These days, he started to think his heart was not part of himself anymore, but a complete entity which was happening to share the same path. His heart wanted its other half, Hanzo did not. Hanzo wanted peace and his brother back.


	4. Concert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some lifetimes end too soon.

しにもせぬ  旅寝の果よ  秋の暮  
Shini mo senu/ Tabine no hate yo/ Aki no kure  
_I’m not likely to die._  
_The result for the days of sleeping away from home._  
_It’s the end of the autumn._  
\-- Matsuo Basho  


 

 _There are worse ways to go_ , he thought some lives later, when he was more mature. Hanzo couldn’t really believe that he was able to detach himself from himself and see his past selves in an objective light. But he guessed that anyone would do the same after thirty-eight tries of finding one damn person. Very few people had his misfortune. So few, that all the physicians Hanzo visited only shrugged and told him to “just find his soul mate.” How hard could it be?

The picture of the iris located on his wrist moved, the flowers blown away by an imaginary wind. They caught his attention nonetheless. He experienced a lot of death in his numerous attempts to find the one human who was meant for him and he was even fond of some of them, odd as it was. Hanzo remembered when he has another name and…

…He is bouncing with joy in front of his mother, because she just gave him the best possible present for his sixteenth birthday. She is chuckling and trying to keep her composure, but it’s quite useless in front of her teenage son, who believes his behaviour is appropriate for a young man.

“Oh, sweetheart, please calm down.” She is unable to surpass her grin. “They are just tickets.”

Another shout escapes the teen, which makes her laugh even harder. She never saw such joy in her son, so she is torn between imitating him and keeping up the appearances. Her husband is of no help, because he keeps hiding between his newspaper, pretending to read, but she knows better. He didn’t move beside the page he is on in that moment.

“You have to come with me! At least until we reach the gate or something! Please.”

She chuckles again, but shakes her head.

“No, honey. I bought them for you and your friends. Please enjoy them with your friends.”

She takes his hands and holds them gently. Her boy has grown so much. He is a teenager now, taller than her and showing them all the beginning of a possible beard. He is maturing before her eyes and she can only smiles as he leaves her behind. That was the fate of the parents, after all.

Steven kisses his mother’s cheeks, thanks her again and runs upstairs to get ready for the night of his life. He stops halfway on the stairs and listens to what his parents have to say. He still can’t believe his father allowed him to go to a concert. The woman remains in the middle of the living room, afraid that even a move from her would mean he distanced himself even more.

“He’s going to be ok, darling. He’s a big boy.”

She looks at her husband, but there is no trust in her eyes. His voice sounds doubtful, like he is only saying the words for her sake. Steven takes another step up the stairs.

“You’re right. He’s a big boy, but you know I can’t stop worrying every time he takes a step outside the house.”

He hears his father laugh and takes that as a sign he should stop the eavesdropping. He can’t help it though. His parents always were secretive people. He couldn’t even say his mother’s favourite colour. He decides that thinking about his parents’ secrets will only bring him problems, so he quickly texts his friends. Two of them answer almost instantly and he has to laugh at their eagerness.

Two hours later, after dark, they meet in front of Steven’s house. Music from the band they are going to listen to is already blasting from the radio. They are all loud and young and very much alive…

…Hanzo knew that Steven is stabbed to death three hours later by a coward who cornered him. He did not have to remember himself falling to the ground, uselessly trying to stop the bleeding. He did not have to remember how Steven chocked to death and died by himself on his birthday, wishing he never went to that concert.

But Hanzo had to wonder why he had to die in such gruesome ways for his first lifetimes, as if someone was punishing him. _A punishment without a crime_ , he thought bitterly. He had a number of quiet passings, but they seemed to lose themselves in the plethora of memories he was attempting to recall.

 


	5. Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul mates share cravings.

傘さして  母やおくれて  秋の雨  
Kasa sashite/ Haha ya okurete/ Aki no ame  
_Holding the umbrella,_  
_The mother is behind._  
_The autumn rain._  
– Nakamura Teijo  


 

“Shimada-san, your umbrella!”

He turned just in time to see a very young woman descend the slippery stairs in a hurry. If he remembered correctly, she was the newest assistant of Tanaka-san. She was a sweet little thing, who smelled like vanilla powder and mint. The sweetness alone was so intense that it almost made Hanzo throw up.

Besides his umbrella, she also had a box in her other hand. Any other person would have used the umbrella until they reached their destination, but this woman thought it was endearing that she was soaking wet when she stopped in front of Hanzo. He took it quietly and opened it above them. She blushed and looked down, which meant she could stare at his tie pin. She finally looked in his eyes, probably after making sure she was confident enough to say whatever she wanted.

“Please have this chocolate. It’s Valentine’s Day today.”

He knew.

“Thank you.” He didn’t move to take the box. “Pardon me, but aren’t you married, Kawachi-san?”

She blushed again and looked down. Her sweet, floral perfume made its way up Hanzo’s nostrils again and he barely contained a sneeze. It was the worst. The woman bit her lower lip, then looked at him again, seemingly angry, probably because she did not appreciate at all that he pointed out her marital status.

“So what? I didn’t meet my soul mate yet!”

So that excused her from cheating?

“I don’t see what that has to do with me, Kawachi-san.”

She frowned, then pouted, probably trying to keep up the idea that she was, in some ways, cute. Hanzo never thought women like her were in any way attractive. The fake pouting didn’t help their case either. He remained unmoving, in the rain, holding the umbrella for both of them.

“It depends, Shimada-san.” She said and stepped a little closer. “Do you have a craving for sweets?” The box was between them.

Hanzo looked down at her.

“It is not right, Kawachi-san.”

“What isn’t?”

She was also playing the woman who didn’t know better, the wife who didn’t understand what was right and what wrong, the stupid woman. Hanzo hated that even more than the pout. He tried to remain civil and be polite. Maybe she could understand how pathetic she looked.

“You, saying these things, Kawachi-san. Implying that I might be your soul mate, when I am clearly not.”

 _Please understand_ , he almost said.

“But you could be! We never know! My husband will understand.”

She drops the chocolate box after that and puts her hands around Hanzo’s neck. Now that she’s closer, he can smell the perfume better, which is worse. She presses herself to him. Hanzo could hear the box of chocolate being destroyed by her high heels. He feels bad for it. It looked like it was expensive.

She looks at him from under her fake eyelashes.

Hanzo is not amused.

“Do you want it, Shimada-san?”

He is not amused at all, but she doesn’t stop. Hanzo can feel her boobs pressed to his abdomen, but he says nothing and feels even less. He wants to shout and tell this woman to leave him alone, but that would be improper. He put his left hand on her shoulder and took a definitive step back. She is left in the rain once more, now because of his decision.

“I do not enjoy sweets at all.” He looks down at the box of chocolates pushes them towards her with the tip of his black shoe. “Pity you threw them away. They seemed delicious, and expensive.” He looks in her eyes, stares her down, and allows her to see far behind his mask of serenity. “Did you buy them with your own money, Kawachi-san?”

Her eyes open wide, making a circle of white frame her now small, black irises. Her lips are parted and he can see her white teeth. A sudden and violent need to cough comes over him and he turns his head to the side to do it as discrete as the situation allows him. Kawachi-san is still staring at him when he looks at her again. She seems determined, so Hanzo takes another step back, further away from the woman. The taste of alcohol and cigars is now entertaining his senses. He has an unexpected need to smoke, although he had avoided the need for years, precisely since he finished university. Yet the craving is unusual, since he is not missing the taste of his old cigarettes, but something more foreign, something that never touched his lips.

The horn of a car reaches Hanzo’s ears and he turns to look in its direction. An old, black car is waiting in the street. He doesn’t recognize it, but after one last look at the woman, he leaves her on the stairs. In one desperate attempt to keep him close, she throws the box of chocolates after him, screaming his name at the top of her lungs. Heavy with rain and melted chocolate, the box falls on the stairs some steps away from Hanzo. He doesn’t even look at it twice and keeps descending.

He stops in front of the car. The driver rolls down his window and winks at him. He is a foreigner with brown hair and brown eyes. He is smoking.

“You looked like ya needed a hand.” The man winks at him.

“Not necessarily, but thank you.”

Hanzo has an usual craving for cigarettes. Foreign.

He salutes the man and leaves, before anything crazy could happen.

On his way to the train station, he wonders if Kawachi-san will tell her husband anytime soon that she is pregnant. He idly thinks about the child’s father just to avoid thinking about the man in the car…

…Looking at himself walk away from his soul mate confused Hanzo the most. Although he was recalling his own memories, he still wanted to scream at himself to turn around, to make a move. Unlike his initial assumption from before he began writing his life story that he never met his soul mate until he was already bored of starting life again and again, his memories proved him wrong.

Sometimes, he surprised himself.


	6. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mark of the soul mate lights up when two soul mates fall in love.

_it must be magic_  
_how you take my darkness and_  
_turn it into fire_

– Penelope Winter

_The dungeon is cold and dark, but one of you still has the oil lamp they stole from the Professor. You can see a little in front of you and very little around you. You noticed several doors in the hallway, but they’re all locked. Finally, you reach the door to the offic--  
_

“Alomohora!” The woman shouts at the top of her lungs. Hanzo stops and sighs more annoyed with his group than anything else. He is still unable to understand why Hana refuses to learn the rules. There aren’t so many and one has to think that after at least five sessions, one already has enough knowledge to play the game properly. But not Hana. She was, like always, the exception to the rule.

“Hana.” He starts, trying to fake a calm tone of voice. “I already told you several times that this is not a Harry Potter setting.” As soon as the words pass his lips, he realises he sounds annoyed. Hana just pouts at him.

“You told me I have spells!” She glares at him.

“True.”

“You told me I’m a wizard.”

“True.”

“You told me…Oh, not me, us! You told us we’re in a dungeon.” The entire table sighs.

“Also true. Is there a reason for this conversation?”

“You told me I can unlock doors.”

“Yes, if you roll good enough.”

“Wizards don’t _roll_.” She says and sounds absolutely offended by the simple concept of rolling a die. She sits down again, glaring at the die now that Hanzo was somehow out of the way. He sighs and looks down, unsure on how to proceed. He feels bad for being mean to her. Hana just took the game way too seriously.

“Ok, what about a break, huh?” Gabriel suggests.

Before Hanzo can say anything, he already sits up and disappears in the kitchen, in search of some beverages and snacks.

“Well, take five, I guess.” He whispers and drops his book in his lap. The entire meeting is a disaster, he thinks while looking at the ugly picture of a Barghest, the monster he planned to have them fight. Now, the creature just annoys him. He hears his friends get up and go into the kitchen, but he is stuck to the chair.

“No break for the DM?” A voice asks him.

He raises his eyes and looks at the new guy. Gabriel brought him. He is probably the youngest in their group, but Hanzo doesn’t mind. He is nice enough and understands where his character ends and where he begins better than Hana.

“I don’t need one.”

The boy laughs. “Not even for getting away from us for five minutes?”

Hanzo has to roll his eyes at the comment. So immature.

“Ok, sorry. Clearly out of line.” He leans on the table, over his character sheet. He was playing a gunslinger, a class Hanzo introduced just for him. He knew enough about the game to request something like that and even talk with Hanzo for hours about how to introduce him in the party.

“It’s ok. It’s not the worst I heard.”

“Still bad.” He laughs. “How long have you been the DM?”

Hanzo shrugs. “One year without a party, two with this. We included Hana three months ago.”

He whistles. “Wow, you’re really dedicated.”

Hanzo just sighed. “If I’m not dedicated, then they are as good as dead.”

The boy nods and they fall silent after that last comment. But Hanzo has to look up again when he hears a tapping. The boy is staring at the wall, at Hanzo’s stupid Archery reward from some years ago. His head is turned to the side, so Hanzo can openly stare at him without looking like a creep with no hobby. Although he is younger than Hanzo, his shoulders are broader and he is taller. On his neck, the beginning or the end of a tattoo can be seen if someone tries hard enough. Hanzo knows the same tattoo appears on his chest too, thanks to a very hot day when the boy stopped by in a baggy shirt which barely covered his front. His skin tells Hanzo he is in the sun a lot of time and his hands imply he is hard working. Although he has cuts everywhere on his fingers, his touch is nothing but gentle.

“Sorry, but I forgot your name.” He admits, softly, hiding behind his book again. “After all this time…”

The boy turns and gives Hanzo a large, toothy grin. “Jesse, and it’s fine. I’m not as exotic as you bunch, but I try. I only joined y’all for four or five sessions. I can’t expect you to remember everything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re a good player.”

Jesse turns into his chair and finally faces Hanzo. “And you’re a damn good DM.” He smiles, so Hanzo has to imitate him, even if he hides his own smile in the glass of water. His eyes are focused on Jesse. “I’m impressed that you can deal with Hana.”

“She’s learning.” He shrugs. “She really wants a Harry Potter setting. I tried my best by making you go into the dungeons, but…”

“She lost herself on the way?”

“A little.” They both chuckle.

If Hanzo was looking at anything but Jesse, he could have missed the way the tattoo light up. The light is barely there at first, just a flicker that shines through his clothes. It is weak, but it makes Hanzo’s heart flutter nonetheless.

“Did you—“ He starts to ask, but Jesse puts his finger over his lips and shushes him.

They wait in silence for the rest of the group to return, but even when they start again, Hanzo can only stare at the fire hiding under Jesse's shirt. And Jesse is staring back.


	7. Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some lifetimes leave a mark so great, Hanzo decides he will never attempt to marry ever again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This chapter has a song I recommend you listen to.](https://youtu.be/5vTJkNiDers)
> 
> **Warnings for Chapter 7. Forest** \- Genderbend

_And at the our wedding, thousand swarms of bees have sung_

_And a fir tree wed us, above a lake of living water_

_From your kiss I grow branches and bloom again_

 

Not all of Hanzo’s lives made sense. Sometimes they were clear, sometimes he was losing himself in a forest at three years old. Sometimes they had a beginning and an end, sometimes he died so suddenly he couldn’t even recall it lifetimes later. Until he reached maturity, they were all a cluster of non-sense images, scenes from movies he never watched. For reasons still unknown to him even in the present, Hanzo only married once, when he was reincarnated in the body of a woman. He remembered the moment with fondness and something else…

… ~~Hanzo~~ Parvati looks down at her hands, small and decorated with mehndi tattoos, which in turn looked like black bracelets and rings. Her nails are painted with an adorable model consisting of two shadowy cats playing with a red ball of yarn on a pastel background. Her knuckles are white from the way she was clutching her right fist. People dressed in colourful gowns are passing her and her small corner of the world. The chair is hard under her and the shoes are tight around her ankles. They are pressing down on her muscles, just like shackles. She doesn’t have to sign anything to feel trapped.

“Ready to go, beautiful?”

Her heart is beating fast in her chest and she can only see her shoes and the shoes of whoever talked. Theirs are a pair of black Oxfords, simple and elegant. Hers are white, with pink hearts and a red rose made out of leather. She hits them together and they make a clinking sound when the leather of toe caps comes together.

“Nervous?” The man asks.

She nods and keeps looking down. She finally focuses on the dress, as if she refused to acknowledge the garment until that moment. It is a simple peach strapless dress, long enough to reach the floor and hide her legs. Huge flowers in hues of strawberry, lemon, and mahogany are hidden away by layers and layers of transparent chiffon, so they look like they are painted with water colours. She raises her legs and the dress brushes the floor.

“I am a bit.” She stops and looks at her salmon shoes. The colours on her are all soft, a stark contrast with her black eyes and black hair. She knows there were more ways to say black, but always preferred to use “black” whenever she described herself. “It is a big step, after all.”

The man laughs loudly and touches her shoulder. She tenses up under his hand and he retreats his hand respectfully.

“A step you can take more times these days.”

She looks up and her eyes stop on the man’s left hand. She can see the mark of a ring on his fourth finger. His entire skin is tanned except for that small mark, which is a hue or two lighter. She says nothing, though, like it was polite.

“Why are you worried? Did you realise you don’t love him anymore?”

She shrugs, discarding any idea about lady-like etiquette from her mind.

“It doesn’t feel right. He is not my soul mate. And I am not his.” She stops and looks at her hands. Still no ring on her left hand, but there will be one very soon. “If his soul mate appears, I will be discarded.”

The man nods, but says nothing more about it. He takes out a cigarette and lights it. He offers one to her too, but she waves her hand in a firm refusal.

“You seem to know all about this business. Been here before, Ms. Parvati?”

She gives him no answer, but rises from the chair and goes to her future husband. They step outside shortly after. The man follows her with eyes, but keeps his distance. There is something endearing in watching a woman whose name meant power walk slowly behind a foreigner with blue eyes and a soft voice.

Parvati walks slowly behind her almost-husband, he head down and her hands forming fists. Anyone they meet nods proudly that she finally chose to look the part she is supposed to play. They whisper about submission and goodness, but she keeps her eyes into the ground, counting her cautious steps into the wild. The grass shrieks under her shoes and she apologies silently. The forest parts in front of them and they enter by themselves. Parvati can hear the birds singing about her wedding and the trees dancing for them.

Her husband says nothing.

They stop by the lake and he finally looks at her. He is smiling. She looks in his eyes too, so he can easily read a long history of heartbreak in them. Unknown to the husband, he is not looking in Parvati’s black eyes, but in Hanzo’s…

…who saw much more than he would have liked. His memory about his first and last wedding was hazy after that moment. He was still unable to recall the identity of the man who stopped next to him on that day, but he was able to remember how he gave him courage. The rest of that life consists of vague images about Parvati’s relationship with her husband. They were happy.

He lived them all, yet he still felt detached, a stranger. With every memory he recounted, he felt guiltier and guiltier, as if he was intruding in the private lives of those who lived before him, of those who shared his soul. Yet all of them were him and he was them.

Hanzo looked down at his left hand and felt the ghost of a ring on his finger.

Parvati married that day, but Hanzo remembered it ten lifetimes later.


	8. Eyes. Mirror. Soul.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At birth, your left iris is always the colour of your soul mate's eyes. Hanzo is cursed with having one of the dullest and most common colour: brown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Song recommendation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WC37CaXrbTc)

_This is the way that we love/Like it's forever_   
_Then live the rest of our life,/But not together_

\- "Happy Ending", Mika

 

There were people, people he never saw before and never will see again, all over the floor. They were all dancing, pushing around others just to get a chance of being in the spotlight for a second or two. Hanzo watches them all, an ocean of bodies becoming one large mass of people going through the same motions. Behind them all, a singer on a stage, just a forgotten isle with a lighthouse too big for its small size. Their voice reaches him and it’s beautiful enough to force a small smile on his lips.

“Another one, boss?” The voice of his friend forcefully brings him back to the present.

He turns and looks in Ryuhei’s blue and brown eyes. The man is watching him in turn, an easy smile on his lips and curiosity on his face. He is dressed for a date, mainly because they were in the club exactly for that reason. Hanzo accepted to accompany Ryuhei that very morning. Ryuhei pushes a glass towards him. He takes without a word.

“Is she here yet?” He asks, and Ryuhei beams at him.

“Yes! I saw her next to the stage! She is lovely, boss.” He gets up and turns his back to Hanzo before he can say anything else.

He sees Ryuhei lose himself in the ocean of people and Hanzo has to turn his back to him too. He has to look at the bottles of alcohol. He sees so many colours, but he can only think about his left, brown iris. He thinks about how lucky Ryuhei is, considering his soul mate has blue eyes. Those were easier to find than his classic, boring brown. He looks down at his golden whiskey and wonders where his soul mate was.

“Alone?”

The voice is smooth, but it has a rough quality in it, a secret flavor reserved only for connoisseurs. He cannot stop his smile, no matter how hard he tries. Whoever spoke climbs on the chair next to him and orders a draft beer from all the beverages he could choose.

“Maybe.” Hanzo answers and turns to him. There is a man next to him, in a dark red suit and a black shirt. Despite his choice in fashion, Hanzo has to stare in his eyes. There is the brown one, a strange colour caught between chocolate and chestnuts, and there is his black eye, so dark there is no pupil in sight. They look in each other’s eyes with the singer’s voice in the background, but no other sound around them. The man’s black iris slowly saturates and all doubt dies in Hanzo’s heart. _There he is_ , whispers his very soul, making his poor heart tremble with excitement. _There he is indeed_ , agrees his brain and he can only breathe in, although there is no air to fill his lungs.

“Soul mate?” The man asks and he looks calm.

“Maybe.” Hanzo whispers, afraid that if he spoke any louder, his voice would gave in to the feelings.

“Definitely.” The man says and leans in Hanzo’s personal space. He smells of spice and melancholy. Hanzo missed this man he just met. They stay there, in an almost kiss, an almost confession. “Call me Joel.”

Hanzo’s breath shivers together with his entire body. Joel’s words caress his skin and pull him into an embrace. “Call me Hanzo.” He offers and kisses him, because what was one to do when such a meeting happens but kiss their promised one.

Joel looks strong enough to tear Hanzo apart, but his kiss is gentle and his lips barely move on his. Hanzo is thankful for it. Here he is, almost thirty and still never sharing his first kiss with anyone. Here he is, sharing his first kiss with this stranger who had his black eyes. The man breaks it softly and looks like he is about to take a step back, but stops himself in time.

“This is awkward.” He says and stares at Hanzo’s chest, as if his face would cause him great grief. Hanzo’s heart breaks instantly. He can almost hear the words Joel didn’t say. “But you see, I’m married.”

Hanzo values his soul too much to look at the man’s hand to confirm his words. Better if he doesn’t know. He just nods and turns to his glass without another word. He knows any attempt to speak would shatter him. The man, because he doesn’t deserve a name anymore, seems to know it too.

They continue to drink in silence until Ryuhei returns, in hand with a beautiful redhead with blue eyes. Two blue eyes. Hanzo has to smile and congratulate them. If his friend notices anything, he keeps quiet. Hanzo silently wishes he never accepted Ryuhei’s invitation.

They leave the club after a while.

And days later, even if they notice the change in their boss’ eyes, nobody around Hanzo mentions it.

...Hanzo remembered that lifetime bitterly. He preferred to never meet Jesse at all than being able to meet and being pushed away because he was too late. That was the first time when he realized he couldn’t just meet with Jesse to end his curse, but he was forced to accept and be accepted. His thoughts started racing inside his head, chasing each other. By the time he realized he was staring at a page with almost nothing written on it, there was a big drop of ink in its middle.

It was black, like his eyes, and it was in the background, like his entire existence. What a sad series of lives he had. He laughed at himself and his destiny and turned the page, ready to write the next failed love story.


	9. divinités de la nuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a clock on their wrist which counts down to the moment they meet their soul mate. Hanzo's suddenly goes from a month to zero when he is visiting Japan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song recommendation.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ff4KLQEbJ9Q)  
>  Note:  is meant to show how foreign Jesse's language sounds to Hanzo. It is not meant to offend anyone.

Looking outside the tall windows reminded him of all the times he looked outside other windows, looked at other landscapes and admired other sunsets. The one he was watching while taking a break from writing was one of the strangely beautiful ones. There was a light mist that evening…

…But Hanzo knew the sunset was so much beautiful on a sky of pastels. The clock on his wrists is counting down. Last time he checked it, he was in the elevator and it read: 730:56:02.

“."

He turns towards the unknown voice and unknown language. He has no idea what the man behind him said, but he nods nonetheless. He leans on the rail and looks over all the buildings at his feet. The rose circle cut in half by the hills of Fujisan almost invites him to walk to it. Hanzo knows what a bad idea is to look directly at the sun, but he cannot look away. It is calling him, the same way it called to Icarus thousands of years before him.

 _Land of the Rising Sun_. From all the countries in the world, he never imagined he would walk on Japanese soil once more, especially after the way he left it all those years before and especially after he gave up his citizenship for a European one.

“.” The man speaks again and leans on the rail next to Hanzo. He is a foreigner and he looks like one, unlike Hanzo, who feels like one in the land of his ancestors. “.” The man says and Hanzo just stares at him. His language sounds like something completely alien and new. Or maybe it is so old nobody remembers it exists.

The man’s jaw is set and he seems uncomfortable in his own clothes. Hanzo is intrigued. The man’s eyes are chocolate and his skin looks like sandstone, but his clothes are hugging his figure so much, they seem to suffocate him.

“Hanzo.”

“.”

Hanzo blinks and takes his backpack off. He kneels next to it under the man’s watchful eyes and takes out a notepad and a pen. He offers them to the man, but he just tilts his head. Maybe he doesn’t know how to write? Hanzo writes his own name and shows the man, then he points to his face and to the name. The man’s eyes move between the two, then he nods.

Hanzo gives him the notepad again. He looks around and his eyes fall on the sign written in kanji next to the door. He scans the symbols then starts writing on the paper. He gives the notepad back to Hanzo with a bright smile. He looks handsome.

ジェッセ is written in the middle, but the letters are a little unclear, like it was the first time the man actually wrote something with a pen. Hanzo finds him very very strange, but absolutely fascinating.

“Do you understand me?”

ジェッセ tilts his head again, listening to Hanzo’s and everyone else’s voice, then he nods. Hanzo wonders how he even got there considering he doesn’t seem to know how to speak English or Japanese. He apparently knows how to write his name in Katakana, so that was something.

“Are you hungry? I didn’t eat today.”

ジェッセ just stares at him. Hanzo is about to repeat the questions when the man moves his hand and reaches for something right next to Hanzo’s ear, something he can’t see, but ジェッセ noticed. Hanzo freezes and time stops around them. All the people around them melt together in an amalgam of non-sense. ジェッセ smiles at him. He has a clock on his wrist too and his sleeve raised enough for Hanzo to be able to read it: 00:00:00. His eyes go back to the man, but ジェッセ is still smiling back at him. He finally retreats his arm and offers his closed fist to him, smiling like he has a secret.

Hanzo decides that this moments is definitely the most bizarre he ever experienced in his twenty years.

He looks down at ジェッセ’s fist and notices that some red light is pushing through his fingers, fighting to escape. He glances at ジェッセ’s face, but his expression is full of happiness and mischief. Hanzo is five all over again, hiding away his kindergarten girlfriend.

“.”

“What is it?” He asks.

ジェッセ doesn’t answer him, but opens his fist. In his palm, a small ball of light shines on without a care in the world. Hanzo stares at it until his eyes hurt and he realizes he knows exactly what the sphere is. _The sun._ He quickly turns on his heels to look behind him, but the sky is clear. He turns to ジェッセ, gaping.

“No.” He starts, but doesn’t really know how to continue the sentence. “You…The sun… You just took it!” The man laughs and takes Hanzo’s hand ~~(the one with the clock)~~ and opens his hand as gently as he can. He holds Hanzo’s wrist ~~(hiding his clock)~~ even when he drops the ball. Hanzo’s first instinct is to take his hand away, considering he knows the sphere is the sun, but the ball falls on his skin and doesn’t burn him. In fact, it gives off soft light and warmth. He stares at it, unable to believe what he is seeing. The man pulls his sleeves and frees him, but Hanzo is still staring at the sun. ~~(His clock hits 000:00:00.)~~

“I… I’m holding the sun.” ジェッセ laughs again and nods. Hanzo glances at him and laughs too, because he doesn’t know what else he could do in that situation. “Can? May I keep it?” ジェッセ grins and nods. Was Hanzo just another Demeter, dooming the Earth to a never-ending winter? “What are you?” The man shrugs and points to the door, inviting Hanzo to something, to somewhere. Hanzo can’t really believe himself when he feels himself nod, accepting. ジェッセ is definitely a god, a lesser or bigger one, but a god nonetheless. He looks at the sun again, but the ball of light melted in his hand like a snowflake. Now drops of light are falling on the floor and on Hanzo’s boots.

ジェッセ calls his name and Hanzo moves before he thinks or asks anything else.

He wonders, quite absently, if ジェッセ was a good god or a bad one, a creature of the light or a creature of the dark. He was fortunate, though, because Hanzo liked the night a lot.

…Lifetimes later, Hanzo would remember with fondness how he stole the sun from the land of the rising sun while a god of the night stole him from the world.

 

 


	10. Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Writing is left on one's skin after every lover. Only one's soul mate can repeat The Writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings for Chapter 10. Youth** \- Mentions of Drug Abuse, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, Age difference  
> [Song recommendation](https://youtu.be/aRORIKvOR4Y)

_Going through the motions of_  
_Strange ways ‘here we come’ and teenage love_  
_Can see there's something inside_

The smoke from his cigarette raises and merges with the rest of the smog, but Hanzo watches it until he can’t distinguish it anymore. Someone shoves a glass of red liquid in his hand and he takes it laughing. He feels The Writing moving on his skin, climbing on his forearm and circling his wrists, so he drinks the glass and forgets about it. Another glass comes and another one disappears.

Hanzo smiles to the barman and he smiles back. He is a very attractive man. His skin is beautifully tanned and his eyes look deliciously like honey in the lights. Hanzo remembers exchanging some kisses with him, at one point, along the year. They were on and off, dating on Tuesdays, but always breaking off by Friday, a routine made for two sociopaths like them. The man is talking now, but words fly by Hanzo’s ears and lose themselves in the crowd behind him. Hanzo can’t remember for the life of him the man’s name but he can remember where he marked him. On his inner tight, Hanzo has an alluring phrase which marks their beginning and their end, like there was nothing in between:

_Youth is only ever fun in retrospect._

He looks at the barman and his almost honey like eyes look back and he smiles; but Hanzo feels his heart crush itself in his chest. He requests another glass, but this one burns its way down his throat. Someone pulls him by the arm and Hanzo jumps from his high chair. There are a lot of someones in his life. Someones and buts and all of them are leaving a mark on his body. He can count the mistakes, and the nice times and all he had to do to find the one.

He finds himself on the dance floor, hugging and kissing another someone. Their skin is also tanned, but they have short red hair and a small frame. They are talking in Hanzo’s ear, but he can only hear the guitars in the song they are dancing to. For the next six songs, Hanzo changed partners at least four times because they make The Writing move on his skin. Every movement brings it closer to his heart, but they are numbing him in the best way possible.

He likes to think that _The Writing means nothing_ on nights like this one.

He is pulled again by yet another someone and he crashes into chest.

“Easy there, darlin’, you gonna hurt yaself at this rate.”

They smell like something else, not like the club, not like Hanzo, but something entirely unknown. Hanzo can’t even name the feelings the smell brings to light.

“Who are you?” He asks for the first time that evening.

“You hurt me, darlin’.” The stranger says and makes Hanzo spin.

The man laughs, but Hanzo can hear him above the music and all the voices.

“Honestly, you were quite young.” He starts and he hugs pulls Hanzo close, then chases him away, then pulls him again. The clouds of alcohol rise, but hanzo is able to focus on the man and his weird voice. “And your mind was way into the clouds when I told ya who I was.” Hanzo can’t understand him. He is still young, just over twenty-two, even though he has The Writing everywhere on his body. “We met in Amsterdam.”

“Netherlands?” He asks, but his voice is far away and almost silent. The man pulls him towards the bar. “I never left this country.”

“Neah, sweetheart, in the club.” The man smirks.

Now that he is sitting, Hanzo can think just a little better. He remembers the club quite well since it was the place where he met his soul mate and the place which helped him lose his virginity. He remembers the black and golden décor and he remembers a man. Of course he does, he remembers all of them because of the words they left on him.

“I can see ya got way more ink now.”

“I was looking for you.” The barman gives him another glass, but the man takes it. Hanzo glares at him to no avail. The barman switches to water for Hanzo. “I couldn’t find you.”

“I didn’t wanna ya to find me, sweetheart.”

Hanzo leans towards him. Much like his mind, his vision is also hazy, but the man appears clearly. He has brown hair and a brown beard, but his eyes are hiding behind a pair of sunglasses.  He is dressed for a night out, a simple shirt and a vest paired with some ripped jeans and a hat.

“You know nobody can forget.” Hanzo says and drinks his water.

“Damn Writing takes care of that for y’all.”

Hanzo snorts. He remembers how he fought with the man before, on the same subject. He insisted The Writing missed him and that he had no weirdly poetic phrases on his body. Hanzo demanded to see his naked body but he refused. And now, all their shared nights were lost in the mist.

“Why didn’t you want me to find you? We’re soul mates.”

The man nods and looks in his glass. “Because we’re soul mates.”

“So?”

“I didn’t wanna come into your life when you were still searchin’.”

“I wasn’t. I found you. You were enough.”

The man laughs.

“You were like what? Sixteen?” Hanzo nods so he continues: “Sixteen and struggling. I was twenty-two and in hell. I couldn’t drag you down.”

“Why now then?”

He grins and leans closer to Hanzo. He puts his hand on Hanzo’s knee and rubs the place. The gesture sends sparks up Hanzo’s body. It fries his brain in a second.

“You’re older.”

“Age wasn’t the issue. It still isn’t. Why now?”

“Sweetheart.” The man takes his hand away and shoves it in one of his pockets. He pushes a small thing on the bar. It hits Hanzo’s glass of water with a clink. “You were young and experimenting. You couldn’t even drink a full glass of whiskey.” He laughs while Hanzo blushes with embarrassment. There was no need to remind him of his past failures. “I helped ya with your escape. You wanted to forget and I obliterated whatever issue was stressing your pretty little head.” He raises his glass at that. Hanzo is still staring at the thing he shoved on the bar.

 _It’s candy_ , he realizes. Strawberry flavor, because Hanzo mentioned it once when Joel asked him if he wants to try a flavored condom for once. He was so drunk he thought it was funny if he chose the most girlish thing he could think of. He still thought it as funny hours later, when they were both full of sperm and God knows what.

“Joel.” He whispers and the man turns to look in his eyes. Right. “Let’s dance.” The man’s eyebrows rise slowly and the look on his face can only be read as doubtful. Hanzo takes his hand and presses himself to Joel’s body. If he remembers because of The Writing, Joel should also remember. “What did I say, back then?”

The man stops and throws his sunglasses around the glass of alcohol he just finished. He is looking in Hanzo’s eyes, but he can bet Joel sees way further than just his eyes. His eyes are as light brown as Hanzo remembers. “It’s too quiet in this room. I need noise.”

Hanzo laughs against his chest and they stumble towards the dance floor.

The Writing Joel left on Hanzo is burning around his neck. He followed the words perfectly, making them his motto in life. And in between someones and in between highs, he always came back to Joel and his words: _When you're halfway to hell, you could just keep on running or turn around and face yourself._

…The pen stopped on the page. Hanzo stared at the words. Remembering that particular lifetime always left an odd taste in his mouth, like he was able to taste all the cigarettes and all the drugs his former self did. “Muscle memory” some were calling it. He swallowed with difficulty and drank some coffee, to shove down the strange feeling. He knew it was getting late, but he wanted to finish writing his and Joel’s ending. He recalled how they parted that night, with empty promises of reconciliation on their lips. They never did, so that Hanzo kept on drinking and experimenting with chemicals and strangers until an early death by overdose took him. Hanzo wondered if all of his past selves were doomed to be unhappy.

He turned in his chair and looked at his bed, now full after lifetimes of trying.

Maybe he could finish another day.


	11. There Are Two Mugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has a literal heart drawn on the sleeve of their clothes. Everyone can choose their soul mate. The heart lights up when their soul agrees with the choice.

There are two mugs on the table when Jesse enters the tiny dinner room. Both of their handles are facing its respective owner. One of them has a white exterior with a red interior and no text on it. Its handle is chipped, but it holds the tea inside it with the same pride as its sister. The other has a red exterior with a white interior and it’s chipped in more places than the white one. They are located in the middle of the table, close to two plates filled with food.

A hand moves and grasps the white one. The mug is raised to a man’s lips and the tea is sipped. Jesse takes the other chair at the small table.

“How was yesterday?” A male voice asks, question which the tea-drinker answers with a deep groan.

“Awful, just the worst!”

“Oh, Hanzo, you always had a knack for the dramatics.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes, drinks some more from his tea and seems to return to his newspaper. After spending so many years by Jesse’s side, everything he tastes has his influence: the tea smells like his coffee, the biscuits smell like his twinkies, and the chocolate-covered strawberries smell like his cigars. There is a little of Jesse in everything Hanzo does and there is a bit of Hanzo in everything Jesse does. They melted and slipped into each other’s lives.

“I’m not dramatic. It really was a bad day.”

Jesse hums.

“Charlotte was all over me again. You know she decided last week that I’m her soul mate? Who does that?”

Jesse shrugs. “Charlotte apparently.”

Hanzo groans again and takes his mug of tea. He puts both his hands around it and melts in his chair. He leaves the newspaper on the table and his fiancé take sit instead. Jesse flips to the sport pages and folds it next to his food. He takes one look at Hanzo’s plate, but says nothing while he pulls it closer to his. He starts eating Hanzo’s cucumbers.

“Don’t joke about it. You know I hate it.”

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He whispers and pops a cherry tomato in his mouth. “Tell me more about Charlotte.”

Hanzo sighs and looks at his fiancé. He briefly remembers making the relationship official that spring. He smiles at Jesse. It was still the best decision he could make. “She said her heart is glowing when she’s next to me. And I told her I already found my soul mate.” He sighs again and takes Jesse’s extended hand. The other man always knows when to offer support, even if it’s just a look. “But she still thinks I’m her promised one.” He looks at his mug. A small leaf is swimming upwards. Good omen. ”She never sees Jack hanging around me too. It’s clear he’s the one for her. I saw his heart light up.”

“So she has crush on you?” Jesse seems amused, but he is still holding his hand. Hanzo can’t really blame him. “She’s a nice gal.” His fiancé offers. “Should we invite them for dinner? Maybe they can see each other.”

There are two mugs on the table when Jesse enters the tiny dinner room in the evening. He can still hear Hanzo’s voice in the living room, quietly telling Jack the story of how he met his fiancé. They gave them hints all evening. Jesse stares down at the cake, still unsure. Charlotte doesn’t seem convinced at all. Jesse turns to take the mugs and wash them when he sees the woman in question in the dining room’s door.

“Can I help you?” He asks in the polite tone he uses for clients.

“Get away from him.”

Jesse blinks dumbly at her.

“Excuse me?”

He takes a step back, as a precaution. She seems to catch the movement because she looks around the kitchen for some sort of weapon. Thankfully, Hanzo hates having knives in the open. She sees the mugs and reaches for them. Jesse moves at the same time and pushes her out of the way. She almost touched Hanzo’s mug and nobody was allowed to do that.

“Get away from me, you savage!”

Her shouts bring the attention of the living room. Both men appear in the doorway. Hanzo seems confused and concerned when his eyes fall on Jesse, hiding the mugs. Jack looks disappointed.

“I didn’t touch you, Charlotte.” She gives him a look of pure hate. “In this house, nobody is allowed to touch my fiancé’s mug. It’s just a rule.” She is shivering because of the rage she is trying to contain. “I just walked between you and them.”

Some clarity appears in Hanzo’s eyes, while his confusion transfers to Jack. Nobody normal was that obsessed with mugs, except for Hanzo and Jesse. His fiancé giggles and invites Charlotte outside. Jesses sighs relieved when he hears Hanzo’s voice telling Jack to escort her home.

There are two mugs and a glass on the table when Jesse enters the tiny dinner room in the afternoon. One of them has a white exterior with a red interior and no text on it. Its handle is chipped, but it holds the tea inside it with the same pride as its sister. The other has a red exterior with a white interior and it’s chipped in more places than the white one. The glass is simple, no drawings or colours on it. They are located in the middle of the table, close to three plates filled with food.

“Daddy! Daddy! Look!”

A smile instantly blooms on Jesse’s lips. A small girls runs to him and hugs his left leg before Hanzo can say anything to her. He puts the newspaper on the table and makes some space for Jesse on the small sofa that made its way into their dining room and lives. Jesse raises their daughter in his arms then sits her on his knee. She immediately reaches for the glass of milk.

“What did you want to show me, darling?”

She beams at him and pulls a piece of paper from under her plate and almost knocks the glass down. Hanzo catches it and frowns at her in warning. She smiles back and whispers a quick “sorry” before she turns to Jesse.

“Us!”

The figures on the paper look nothing like them beside her pink dress, Hanzo’s glasses and Jesse’s cowboy hat. He has to laugh at how accurate she drew them. She focused only on the essentials. She starts to tell him about her day at the kindergarten and what they were supposed to do that day. Jesse listens while he reaches under the table for his husband’s hand.

Life doesn’t have to be hard to be enjoyable, he thinks before Hanzo offers him a taste of his new tea.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At one of the King's parties, Hanzo Shimada dances with a beast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song recommendation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dUNOfNad59Q)   
>  [Inspiration](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dc3XcTcTjaw)

They are all spinning in the room, dresses flowing behind ladies and around gents. The music is loud enough to be heard from every corner of the room, but quiet enough that no secrets can be shared; that doesn’t stop any participants. They all dance and whisper, giggle and whisper, eat and whispers. Secrets are shared, kisses are shared and partners are shared.

That is how Hanzo finds himself in the arms of their host, a big man with broad shoulders and beast-like eyes. The song didn’t start yet. Hanzo barely has time to consider his outfit when the man takes his hand and pulls him close, their chests touching and their breaths mixing. Hanzo knows they are about to dance a Viennese waltz, but his mind is blank. The man smells like the forests and mountains close to the Shimada Mansion. Thanks to his upbringing, Hanzo knows exactly what he is supposed to do. He doesn’t miss a beat when he tilts his head back and exposes his neck. He slips into the shoes of the follower easily. They start in front of Hanzo’s mother, who is pressing her lips together to hide her fear. She warned him right before the man asked him for the dance. She murmured in Hanzo’s ear about beasts and sacrifices and blood, but he disregarded her. She wasn’t the same since Father died.

The way the man dances is as wild as the rest of him. There are times when Hanzo pulls him with him more certain turns, while the host tries to step back, but Hanzo doesn’t let them stumble. There could be a scandal if people saw the heir of Shimada couldn’t even dance a waltz. The man doesn’t seem to care about such mundane issues and he fights Hanzo in an almost visceral way. He knows he should follow, but the man seems to lead him to certain doom.

“You missed it.”

“Missed what, darling?”

“The contra check.”

The man laughs at him and Hanzo can see the grin reaching his eyes. The rest of the man’s face is hidden by a mask like everyone else’s. It is a beautiful piece of art, representing the face of a wolf or another similar creature. It has small, golden ears on top of it, which are covering his forehead. Then there is its long nose, longer than most masks’. It is painted with a dark red which matches the rest of his costume. If his manor didn’t convince Hanzo of his wealth before, the threads of gold in his peacoat are a much better argument.

“I don’t remember any check in a waltz, darling.”

Hanzo says nothing in reply. He can see the man’s lips and eyes, but without the rest of his face, all his expressions confuse Hanzo greatly. He seems nice enough and he can’t deny that their host is a good dancer, but there is something else in his eyes that Hanzo can’t explain. The man seems to know more than he lets on.

“Why did you want to dance a waltz when you don’t know all the steps?”

“My apologies.” He answers. The turn he takes is so sudden that Hanzo almost misses the next step. “I’m an old man, you see.” Hanzo doesn’t. “This is how we did this back in my day.”

The host gives him another bright smile, although Hanzo would have liked to frown at his replies. His professors were old people, experienced people, who learned waltz from their own instructors. So how old was this man really? And what did he mean by “back in his day”? Hanzo was pretty sure waltz didn’t change in a few years.

The music starts picking up and Hanzo is forced to focus on the way his feet move.

“Why me, sir? Lady Vaswani would have liked a dance with you. She watched you all night.”

The man giggles and pulls Hanzo closer, forcing their chests to meet again. Hanzo refuses to tilt his head back now. The host grins and shows him his teeth. They are white and look sharp, like a wolf’s. They pass Hanzo’s mother again and the man tightens his hold on his waist, almost possessively. Hanzo’s breath is taken away by how this man leads. Hanzo starts wondering if his mother was correct after all.

“I liked your eyes.” He whispers when they take a sharp turn to avoid a collision. “They looked alive. I had to see you better, closer. I had to feel you in my arms.”

Although in front of him is a man, Hanzo’s fight or flight response activates. His heart is beating so fast that it makes it hard for him to breathe, and the shirt is suddenly too tight around his neck. He has the feeling that he has to run again, because the man is dangerous. He is so very dangerous. Hanzo swallows hard and nods, still looking in the man’s eyes. They are a light brown, but they shine so brightly in the light of the ballroom that they look almost like they are hiding a fire behind them.

“You are a very good dancer, Mr. Shimada.”

“I learned from the best.”

The host gives him another one of his intense looks.

“I will be very sad when I will have to return you to your mother, Mr. Shimada.”

What an odd phrasing.

“I am my own person, thank you very much.”

The man hums and Hanzo’s entire body trembles with the sound. The host watches him silently and slowly leads him through the last notes of the song. They stop in front of Hanzo’s mother; a complete circle. The woman hugs Hanzo tight as soon as he’s out of the man’s arms, but he just bows, smiling.

Later that evening, Hanzo thinks he resembles a cat who stole the canary without anyone noticing.

“Mother, what did you say about our host? Earlier?”

“He’s a demon!”

Hanzo’s eyes move on the dance floor and they quickly find their host. The man is now dancing with Mrs. Song, making her lean back so much that her hair touches the ground. Hanzo feels his blood boil in his veins and he quickly tells his mother that he wants to dance again. She doesn’t have enough time to turn and warn him that he’s already on the other side of the ballroom, tapping the man on the shoulder.

“May I have this dance, Mr. Morricane?”

The man gives him the brightest smile yet and quickly dismisses his previous dance partner. He pulls Hanzo in his arms and they easily fall in their respective roles, this time with Hanzo leading.

“My pleasure, Mr. Shimada.”

Hanzo looks in his eyes again and he is certain this time that they are burning. Mr. Morricane emanates power, passion and antiquity. Mr. Morricane feels like he saw the Fall of Rome, but smells like an ordinary Saturday afternoon.

“Please, Mr. Shimada, call me Joel.”

He smiles. Hanzo’s lips turn up in a discreet, timid smile.

“Hanzo.”


	13. Roommates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soulmates are roommates sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song recommendation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PriG2Gx6ngI)  
>  Note: The game they are playing is Ensemble Stars!. Check [the wiki](http://ensemble-stars.wikia.com/wiki/Category:Characters) if you are interested enough. The character they are talking about is [Souma Kanzaki](http://ensemble-stars.wikia.com/wiki/Souma_Kanzaki).

“Should have started when I told you.”

“Shut up,  Shimada.”

“You would have had a good head start by now if you have listened.”

Jesse pouts at him from across the room then throws a poorly aimed pillow at his head. Hanzo leans to the side and easily dodges it. He looks up at his roommate and says nothing. What could he say? I love you? I really like your eyes? I really wished you crossed the room and sat on my bed? All good ideas, but all inappropriate. He would have said so many things if his heart wasn’t suffocating him.

Jesse hums and Hanzo looks at him again, his fingers moving on the screen of his phone automatically. The other boy seems focused on his own device, so Hanzo takes a second to appreciate his gentle expression and beautiful skin. He also signs, in a suffering, lovesick fool kind of way. He really wants to tell Jesse what he feels for him.

“You say I can catch up with ya?”

“If you spend some diamonds, sure.”

Jesse pouts.

“How many do you have, Jesse?”

The boy looks down, ashamed.

“Three.” He whispers and Hanzo almost misses it.

“What did you do with them?”

Jesse’s pout intensifies. He is cute, he is so damn cute that Hanzo almost sighs at the sight of him. Oh, God, what did he do to deserve such a cute roommate?

“Spent them?”

“On?”

Jesse looks down again and fidgets with the end of his sweater. He raises it a little and shows Hanzo a patch of skin, tanned skin, cute skin. Cute skin? _That is strange,_ he thinks and tries really hard to focus on Jesse’s words again. He is mumbling about his diamonds and how hard he worked for them. Hanzo stops him with a gentle “ahem”.

“You can get more diamonds if you play your cards right.”

Jesses gives him a very suspicious look. He obviously thought Hanzo liked playing with his feelings.

“Why do you want to participate in this event anyway? You could wait this one out.”

From all the answers and reactions Hanzo expected, he never, ever anticipated Jesse to blush and actually hide his face in his hands. He shakes his head slightly. Hanzo can hear a muffled sound coming from him, something that resembles a groan.

“I just…like the…cards.” He makes a small pause after almost every word. Hanzo frowns at him, confused. Jesse looks outside the window, pretending that he saw someone. They are living on the first floor, so such a thing is not strange. But the inner garden is empty because it’s cold because it’s January.

“Seriously?” Hanzo asks, with a small grin hiding in the corner of his lips.

“Yup.”

Hanzo has to laugh at that. “Which one?” He asks as a courtesy and nothing more.

Jesse’s blush worsens. “Uhm! All!” He says quickly and hides his face again. _It’s stupid_ , Hanzo thinks but pushes him for an answer again. “Fine. I like Souma’s.” Hanzo tilts his head and quickly checks the card Jesse mentioned. He didn’t pay a lot of attention to them. He finds it quickly and zooms on it. Sure enough, there is the boy, dressed in a military uniform. The colours look German to Hanzo, but he was no specialist in war attire. _It’s cute_ , he thinks.

“Oh, it’s for the ranking.”

Jesse sighs. “I’m doomed. I will never get it.”

“Why do you like it so much? He has better cards. Why not wait for a 5 stars one? Maybe he has one in summer? Like the Master Swordman’s Dance.”

Jesse looks at him and Hanzo immediately notices something foreign in his eyes. They are still the same old brown, but there is something lurking behind the irises. Jesse stares at him and Hanzo stares back. They spend the next few minutes in absolute silence, their eyes holding a quiet conversation unknown to them.

“He reminds me of you.”

It’s a whisper, but Hanzo tells himself all the great declarations of love were told in murmurs.

“He is cute.” He adds, using that word that Hanzo utilizes to describe his roommate. _Roommate._

“He is.” He agrees. His heart is pounding, throwing itself against his ribs, but he remains unmoving. “I will help you if you want it that much.” He offers and Jesse lights up. He pushes himself off his bed and crosses the room. _Don’t_ , Hanzo has time to think before Jesses drops on his bed, next to him, on his bed. Hanzo tries his best to keep the blush out of his cheeks. “This is better.” He tries but his voice sounds bad even to his own ears. Jesse puts his head on his shoulders. “I can teach you some tricks to get the most points. It’s a three-star card so it won’t be that hard, but you started only recently.” Jesse hums and nods against his shoulder. Hanzo is suddenly certain he will die from a heart attack at twenty.

They talk softly over their phones, Jesse nodding and asking questions.

There are some kisses shared, maybe…

…or maybe not, because Hanzo the writer was unable to remember the specifics of that particular timeline when he wrote his autobiography. Was it still a biography or did it fall under the genre of life writing? Was it life writing if he was describing several of his lifetimes?

He looked down at his dirty hands and ink smeared pages of his journal. What number was this? Six? Did he meet Jesse before lifetime number ten? He couldn’t remember clearly and he was unsure exactly when a lifetime stopped. He knew he couldn’t see them completely, remember every detail and tell the tales as they happened, but he tried his absolute best to be as accurate as possible. From whom, though? He wrote only for himself.

“Done for today, darling?”

He wrote for Jesse McCree too. He smiled and put the notebook in its proper drawer.

Clear memories or not, his love for McCree had always been a constant.


	14. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some flowers bloom on wrists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has [art.](http://sunshinemage.tumblr.com/post/172097423837/my-contribution-to-the-2018-mchanzo-big-bang) Please take a look and support the artist! I am so very thankful for her continuous support! <3 She is an absolute delight to work with. <3

_Dead my old fine hopes_  
_And dry my dreaming but still..._  
_Iris, blue each spring_  
― [ **Bashō Matsuo**](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/62257.Bash_Matsuo)

Hanzo understood irony better than most of his peers, and even better than the older ones. He understood that it meant a “state of affairs or an event that seemed deliberately contrary to what one expected and was often wryly amusing as a result.” Yet even with that knowledge in his small hands, he never found irony amusing.

And so he wrote about how…

…his brother discovered his first mark.

They were small, never lived more than seven springs in his brother’s case ~~(Hanzo’s age was not important)~~ , but Genji knew everything there was to know about soul mates. He was excited to meet his own and be happy—“Happy than I ever was!“ he would tell Hanzo, ignorant in his innocence that his older brother was content with what they already had. Genji always was the type of child to demand, be it toys or attention. He wanted it all. He wanted everything. He got everything:

“Mommy! Mommy!”

“What is it, little sparrow?”

The woman left the incomplete paper on the table and turned towards her other son. Her face bloomed into a beautiful smile and she opened her arms to hug him. Genji immediately ran into her hug, while Hanzo watched them from across the table, an incomplete crane between his fingers. When his brother was with them, their mother was only Genji’s.

“I got it! I got a mark! Like you and daddy!”

“Oh my!” Genji’s mother giggled. “Let me see!”

Genji pulled his sleeve up and showed the woman a strangely beautiful mark on his forearm. It elongated from the ends of his palm to the inside of his elbow, in the harmonious form of a pine tree. On his wait, a single small symbol gave a hint about the boy’s soul mate: “Z”, ~~(probably their initial)~~. Then, lines and lines of symmetrical symbols adorned the rest of the arm. Hanzo could distinguish dots, spheres and just aesthetical geometrical forms. The tattoo didn’t seem to mean anything in particular, but Genji’s mother gushed about it anyway.

“Such a beautiful mark, sparrow!” She whispered.

“Such intricate details! They surely love you very very much, just like mommy!” She said louder.

“And the symmetry, oh my, they must be a mature person.” She roared.

Hanzo dropped the crane on the table and got up. The pair continued to speak, ignoring him. Even from outside the room, Hanzo could still Genji’s mother searching for meanings of ink on skin. His own mark burned him, so he left, heartbroken and quiet. The gardens were always his sanctuary so he lost no time in running away.

Outside the house and hidden behind bushes of pink roses, he looked at his own mark: located on his left waist, [it was the contour of two flowers](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/30/6a/ac/306aaccbdcc4d03c6672aae53b20a322.jpg). The lines were so delicate that Hanzo didn’t even notice them at first, thinking they were just his own veins. They had no colour inside their petals, but Hanzo recognised them as irises. They weren’t exactly a bouquet, but even on their own, their meaning was clear: faith, hope…admiration. With no colour associated with them, they could mean anything.

But what good was a meaning to an inked picture on the wrist of a child?

Staring at it, but thinking about his brother and mother, Hanzo didn’t notice how another flower started growing to the left of the irises. Only when the newcomer opened its petals and bloomed, did the boy finally see the change. He didn’t recognise the flower at first, thinking it was just another iris, but then it stopped blooming and drops of paint started filling in a meaning.

Stargazer.

It was a [tiny red lilium](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/3a/2e/74/3a2e745e86af32458ab3023584108c73.jpg), no bigger than the irises, even smaller, although the flower itself was bigger. It had another sprout behind it, but that one remained empty of colour. Shortly after the red and whites settled on the lily, blue started dropping on the irises. Hanzo watched them while he remembered Genji’s mother’s words.

“Blue irises are symbolic of hope and faith.” she said, when Hanzo chose a blue paper to make his first iris origami; combined with a lily, the flowers changed their meaning:

Love and respect.

“Hanzo!”

He quickly covered his waist with his sleeve and came from behind the bushes.

“Yes, mother?”

“What are you doing in the garden?”

“Nothing! I was just thinking of making you…

…a bouquet! It’s nothing much.”

“Oh, shucks darling. Ya makin’ me blush.”

Hanzo lowered the bouquet and looked at the man. He was a little taller than himself, his skin was darker and his hair lighter. His eyes were warm and his smile bright. He liked talking in idioms and preferred that to silence. Hanzo could write another journal only about how different he was from Jesse.

“I already made it.” He said and offered the man the bouquet of blue irises and lilies.

The man laughed again and took it from Hanzo’s extended hands. ”It’s almost funny, you know, giving a bouquet to a florist. Ah, the irony.”

Hanzo smiled, finding it amusing at last.

“It is.”

 


	15. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most people enjoy living their lives in shades of black and white. Hanzo Shimada is one of them. Jesse McCree is not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Song recommendation #1](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Q02mMFNmyA)   
>  [Song recommendation #2](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l_E3o3zuCUc)   
>  [Inspiration: the "feeling blue" piece by alfheimr](http://alfheimr.tumblr.com/post/149969440469/feelin-blue-aquaphobia-hydrophobia-not-sure)
> 
> **Warnings for Chapter 15. Blue** \- Aquaphobia/Water phobia, Attempt at a Suicide

He doesn’t notice it at first, because everything around him is dark anyway, but there are splashes of blue here and there. ~~(What was blue anyway? People described it as cold. But was it? People said the water was blue, but physics said that is just reflection.)~~ It closes down on him and hugs him. Hanzo closes his eyes. There is nothing to see anymore. The sounds are muffled around him, but he feels at peace in this constant silence.

Quiet, quiet and dark.

He likes it there, because it makes more sense than the world outside. The world outside is gaining colours now and he doesn’t know what to do with them. Count them? Write them down? Touch them? They are many and they are odd and they scare him. They frighten him especially because he can’t remember for the life of him who he locked eyes with. Was it the barista? Was it a coworker? Was it another pedestrian? Who ruined his life?

Quiet, quiet and blue.

He opens his eyes and sees the light is farther away. It’s becoming smaller and smaller, but he doesn’t mind. That means he is getting away from the outside world. And he wants to run far away from it. The outside world is colourful now and it tired his eyes. He is used to seeing black, and white and grey, but blue and red are slipping in it and it is too much. It is too loud and too bright and he misses the soft tones of the non-colours and everything that was in-between.

He sees his too long hair flow behind him, accompanied by bubbles too big and his too easily manipulated feelings being pushed out of his body by the blue water. He lets them leave. He has no need for sentiment where he was going now. There was quiet where he was going now.

There are strong arms pulling him up and out. Hanzo fights with all his might to stop them. _I want back in_ , he thinks or screams or just begs. He can’t hear himself and water enters his mouth and makes him choke when it’s forced down his throat. He wants to escape and so he fights.

“Darling, please.”

A voice says, _the_ voice says and Hanzo opens his eyes. A man is in front of him, all brown and gold and bright. He is lovely so Hanzo wants to run, because all lovely things die too soon, like cherry blossoms, boxes of pocky, perfumes, men. He shakes his head and the man frees him. Hanzo falls again, but he stops in the sand. The water is moving around him, a sweet embrace of a traitorous friend. Hanzo wants to be dry now, even if his mouth would be so dehydrated it will hurt to swallow his own saliva. He wants to be dry, and he wants the man, and he wants the quiet.

Hanzo craves.

“What was that for, honey bee?”

His voice is sweet, but his colours hurt Hanzo’s eyes. He misses his glasses and he misses the quiet. The colours are too loud and the man is too gentle. Everything is too much of a something and he just wants to rest and wait for the colours to pass. He feels sick.

“It was too loud.” He whispers because even the waves yell at him.

“What was?”

“Everything.” _You. The colours. The possibility of an “us”._

“You almost killed yourself. If I wasn’t here…”

“It would have been better.”

The man looks at him and his soft brown eyes are sad. Feelings pull at Hanzo’s chest and tear him apart. His heart is in shambles. His soul is in ruins. He wants the man and he wants to run away from him.

Hanzo craves from himself and from the outside world.

“Don’t say that, sweetheart. Not after I looked for you all over the world.”

“Why?”

“You’re my soul mate.” He makes a gesture towards the ocean because water has the answers.

“I don’t need a soul mate.”

“Nobody said that.”

“Why look for me?”

“You seemed like a good painter.”

The colours terrify him.

“I’m shit at painting. Can’t even draw a stick man.”

“We can learn together.”

He helps Hanzo up. The touch is almost electric, but Hanzo knows what electricity meant from the moment he electrocuted himself at ten or twelve. Electric is a bad word to describe a touch of a ~~loved~~ promised one, but all the other words hurt him.

“Why drowning? There are better ways to go.”

“Darkness.”

The man tilts his head, considers Hanzo’s answer and nods. “I’m Jesse by the way. I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself because you ran away.” He laughs and starts walking in the same pace as Hanzo. They walk side by side, because their hands almost touching makes the most sense.

The wind is cold, but not blue, not blue at all. The wind has no colours, just like the water.

Hanzo finds he likes how the wind slips through Jesse’s hair.

…And he finds that he enjoys a similar image when water slips through Jesse’s hair. And he finds that he enjoys seeing Jesse wake up next to him. And he finds that he enjoys Jesse asking him a million questions when he is writing, but never quite interrupting him completely.

He appreciated and appreciates a lot of things at Jesse.

But if anyone asked Jesse McCree what he enjoyed Hanzo Shimada, he would just shrug and smile, giving no answer. He was always secretive in the most honest ways. Love is meant to be shout from the rooftops, but savoured in private.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've reached the end. This is the last chapter of the story. Thank you so much for all the support and love you showed this story. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing. Some parts were hard, but I had fun nonetheless.   
> I am already planning another project for this amazing couple so keep an eye out! You can find me on [tumblr](https://sabaix.tumblr.com/). :) I will post updates and teasers. :)


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